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The complete works of lord Byron with a biogr. and critical notice by J. W. Lake
Visualização completa - 1825
The complete works of lord Byron with a biogr. and critical ..., Volumes 5-6
George Gordon N. Byron (6th baron.)
Visualização completa - 1825
appear bear beautiful beneath better blood breast breath Byron canto cause child dark dead death deep doubt earth eyes face fact fair fall feelings fire gaze give Greek half hand hath head heard heart heaven hope hour human Italy Juan kind knew lady land late least leave less light live look Lord master mean mind mortal mountains nature never night Note o'er once pass passion perhaps person poet present rest round scarce scene seems seen shore song soul speak spirit stand stanza strange sweet tears tell thee thine things thou thought true turn walls waves whole wind wish young
Página 183 - The sky is changed ! — and such a change ! Oh night, And storm, and darkness, ye are wondrous strong, Yet lovely in your strength, as is the light Of a dark eye in woman ! Far along, From peak to peak, the rattling crags among Leaps the live thunder ! Not from one lone cloud, But every mountain now hath found a tongue, And Jura answers, through her misty shroud, Back to the joyous Alps, who call to her aloud!
Página 166 - He who ascends to mountain-tops, shall find The loftiest peaks most wrapt in clouds and snow; He who surpasses or subdues mankind, Must look down on the hate of those below. Though high above the sun of glory glow, And far beneath the earth and ocean spread, Round him are icy rocks, and loudly blow Contending tempests on his naked head, And thus reward the toils which to those summits led.
Página 181 - Must we but blush? Our fathers bled. Earth! render back from out thy breast A remnant of our Spartan dead! Of the three hundred grant but three To make a new Thermopylae ! What, silent still? and silent all? Ah! no — the voices of the dead Sound like a distant torrent's fall, And answer, "Let one living head, But one arise — we come, we come!
Página 183 - Fill high the bowl with Samian wine! Our virgins dance beneath the shade — I see their glorious black eyes shine; But gazing on each glowing maid, My own the burning tear-drop laves, To think such breasts must suckle slaves. Place me on Sunium's marbled steep, Where nothing, save the waves and I, May hear our mutual murmurs sweep; There, swan-like, let me sing and die: A land of slaves shall ne'er be mine— Dash down yon cup of Samian wine!
Página 270 - Thy waters wasted them while they were free, And many a tyrant since ; their shores obey The stranger, slave, or savage ; their decay Has dried up realms to deserts : — not so thou, Unchangeable, save to thy wild waves' play — Time writes no wrinkle on thine azure brow, Such as Creation's dawn beheld, thou rollest now ! CLXXXIII.
Página 170 - The castled crag of Drachenfels Frowns o'er the wide and winding Rhine, Whose breast of waters broadly swells Between the banks which bear the vine, And hills all rich with blossom'd trees, And fields which promise corn and wine, And scatter'd cities crowning these, Whose far white walls along them shine, Have strew'da scene, •which I should see With double joy wert thou with me.
Página 237 - The very sepulchres lie tenantless Of their heroic dwellers : dost thou flow, Old Tiber ! through a marble wilderness ? Rise, with thy yellow waves, and mantle her distress ! LXXX.
Página 183 - Fill high the bowl with Samian wine! On Suli's rock, and Parga's shore, Exists the remnant of a line Such as the Doric mothers bore; And there, perhaps, some seed is sown, The Heracleidan blood might own.
Página 158 - twas but the wind, Or the car rattling o'er the stony street; On with the dance! let joy be unconfined; No sleep till morn, when Youth and Pleasure meet To chase the glowing Hours with flying feet.— But hark!
Página 189 - Ave Maria ! blessed be the hour ! The time, the clime, the spot, where I so oft Have felt that moment in its fullest power Sink o'er the earth so beautiful and soft, While swung the deep bell in the distant tower. Or the faint dying day-hymn stole aloft, And not a breath crept through the rosy air, And yet the forest leaves seem'd stirr'd with prayer.